


wild bamboo

by powderblew



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Shrine, Enemies to Friends, F/M, Fluff, Madara is Smitten, Softness ensues, but it bites him back in the ass, commission, excessive use of ethereal, friends to almost lovers, if you know what i mean, izuna is a scheming bb, no beta we die like men, once upon a time the mizu shrine became the naka river shrine, sakura isn't here for the nonsense, sakura just wants a hug, someone give hashi a drink, the shrine au that you all have been waiting for, tobirama needs a time out, warring era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:47:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26482162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/powderblew/pseuds/powderblew
Summary: Clearly, someone up there was testing her patience. —Sakura/Madara ; Shrine!AU
Relationships: Haruno Sakura/Uchiha Madara
Comments: 33
Kudos: 373





	wild bamboo

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sarcastic_mommy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarcastic_mommy/gifts).



When Sakura reaches her twenty-first birthday, she gets so pissed drunk that she can’t stop giggling at every wavering shadow illuminated by the paper lanterns strung up against the door to her porch and pokes at her wooden frame with two fingers.

“Hime-sama!” Sakura calls out and sprawls out against her porch and looks up at the open sky. She says softly, wistfully, “I miss Kenji-sama.”

The bamboo whistles from across the gate.

“I know it’s been _years,_ but I was never alone!” she pouts and grabs the jar of sake abruptly.

There is always _something_ making noise; the forest is never quiet, but her home has always been.

“Amaterasu-hime please, don’t let me be lonely,” Sakura says softly, to no one in particular, and stares at the night sky. She is forlorn and melancholy, but still, she giggles, “I’ve been good! _So good_ and it’s my birthday!”

The leaves of the willow crinkle underneath the gentle wind and her chimes twinkle mockingly, “I can make this my birthday wish? Right, hime?”

Sakura sips from the jar and wishes on the first star she sees tonight.

She closes her eyes, “Please, hime. Let this be a prayer, not a wish.”

And then, thunder crackles.

.

When it rains it pours and the lanterns dim underneath the flood of water.

Sakura sighs and picks up her jar.

She drinks until the blues of dusk meets the pinks of sunrise.

.

There’s a fight one morning.

One with fire and water.

Smoke and earth.

Blood and salt.

.

Sakura hears it but she doesn’t leave the premise.

She gets closer to the gate and peeks from the sides of the shrubbery instead.

.

Madara hates and hates until he’s so burnt out of energy that he’s staggering under the weight of his armor as he makes his way out the thick brush. He’s wounded, cut, bruised, bleeding and he’s pretty sure that his _bone_ is visible – right underneath his ribcage but high enough to be part of his chest – and is irritated by all those injuries. Tobirama was especially brutal today and if Hashirama didn’t call him back—Madara isn’t sure _what_ he would do.

_Peace._

Such an arbitrary word.

Can peace exist between two clans who share a history of blood, violence, and gore?

Madara _spits_ on concepts that have no truth to the matter. Peace is a word wrapped up in humility and morality, decked in _honesty_ and goodness.

Morality exists yes, the elder Uchiha does not dispute that, but oftentimes people ignore morality for the sake of their own desires. Humility does not exist for the sake of pride, honesty is a pretty word for the truth and people always _lie._

But goodness?

Goodness, he has yet to see.

The world has been colored in red and black for as long as he can remember. It’s not just his sharingan – the prideful part of him jerks at that – but blood has been spilled and death comes without warning.

Madara is tired of leaving things up to fate.

.

Madara walks and walks until he finds a shrine – it looks like a shrine with its stone gate – and decides to take refuge beneath the weeping willow that hangs over the gate.

He closes his eyes and tries to gather his strength.

Just for a moment.

.

“If you get blood on my gate I’m going to make you clean it,” an irritated voice knocks him out of his slumber. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to get blood out of granite?”

Madara’s eyes open on instinct rather than demand, he blinks rapidly, fingers grasping onto the hilt of his gunbai, but it’s the fresh crackle of chakra that halts his movements.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the irritated voice says again, there’s a minute brush against the granite – a broom – and it scrapes again, “I don’t handle confrontation very well. Sometimes I forget my true strength.”

Madara looks up.

.

_Pink._

That’s his first thought.

Who the hell has _pink_ hair?

Madara is sure that he isn’t the first nor will he be the last to develop such a thought.

“Woman,” Madara starts and loosens his grip on his weapon, “You shouldn’t be out of the shrine.”

“Sakura,” the woman almost snaps and it’s her green eyes that crackle with something almost, _almost_ like chakra. Or is it chakra? Her hand on the broom tightens into a white-knuckled grip and she scowls, “And you have no _authority_ to tell me what to do.”

Madara stares at her for a moment in disbelief and then he frowns, “Women who live in shrines do not leave to inspect violence and unsavory things such as this.”

“I can’t believe a _woman_ birthed someone so stuck up their own ass,” Sakura – the woman – scoffs and sweeps down the steps, “Because even this _woman_ knows, that you’re drastically low on chakra, cracked at least three ribs, your femur is shattered _by the way_ and you have a concussion. So if I have to kill you, it will be a quick battle; such a disappointment coming from the great Uchiha Madara. Killed in battle, by a _woman._ Though it wouldn’t be much of a battle since you already have one foot in the grave, but the dramatics to this story is one that the people will love.”

Madara, honest to God, stammers.

.

Sakura heals him.

Madara doesn’t ask and she doesn’t offer.

She just does it.

“I thought only the Senju can heal?” Madara opens his mouth and questions her. Surprisingly, he can’t stand the silence – it grates on his nerves like a fresh wash of humidity – it settles underneath his skin, just waiting to be pulled out and he exhales deeply. The question is as much as a _thank you_ as she’s going to get, that she realizes.

“Clearly, you don’t go out much,” Sakura snorts, but she snaps back his ribs together with the quick flick of the wrist and sets his femur, “You’re going to have a limp for a few days, the bone doesn’t heal as fast as cuts. Once your body recognizes that your leg is healed, the limp will leave just as quickly as it came.”

“Just like that?” he sounds suspicious.

“Of course not. You’re going to grow wings and a tail. Maybe you’ll turn into a cat, I’m not too sure.”

Madara really should’ve known better.

.

“You look confused,” Izuna gives Madara a strange look when he walks back into the compound. His older brother’s clothing is ripped, there are holes in his armor, a bandage against his head, and what looked like cloth wrapped around his ribs.

“Do I?” he gives him a look.

The younger Uchiha raises his brows, “What happened?”

“Tobirama,” Madara grunts.

Izuna straightens up and repeats, “What _happened_?”

“A fight,” he gives half-answers, “Territory, law, politics—the usual.”

Clearly, there is something wrong with his older brother. He pauses and glances at the bandages, “Aniki, did Hashirama heal you?”

Madara stills.

_Interesting._

“No.”

“Then who did?”

The Elder Uchiha does not reply.

.

“The Mizu Shrine,” Madara blurts out at dinner one day, his fingers grasp his chopsticks tightly and looks down at his rice, “Who runs it?”

“The Mizu Shrine?” Izuna thinks back and takes a bite of his chicken, “That’s by the Naka river, right? It’s a neutral shrine. They aren’t shinobi I believe. They are also isolated and they don’t really interact with people unless those people visit the shrine.”

“But who’s in charge?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs and pours himself another cup of tea, “I’ve only been there once.”

“For what?”

Izuna looks away, “When kaa-san died. I did a small prayer. Lit some incense and gave an offering.”

Madara nods; he doesn’t look at him.

.

Despite being Clan Head, Madara does do his patrols and sets safety boundaries across the perimeter just in case the Senju scum attempts to breach protocol. It would give him the excuse to shatter their numbers, Izuna, who encouraged the removal of Senju members, silently disagreed with his older brother’s methods.

Part of the Uchiha boundary line leads up towards the Byakko Mountains. It’s where the Uchiha clan – the members who aren’t apart of the main branch – plant most of their produce, where farmers go to herd their animals and the healer collect their herbs.

It’s a lush valley, with a mighty river and scattered fruit trees.

Madara silently thanks his ancestors for securing such a vibrant oasis.

The farmers and agriculturalists work from the early morning into noon and then come back in the evening. At high noon, especially in the summer, most of the people – whether they are Uchiha or not – take refuge inside their homes to avoid the beaming sun. After sunset, at dusk and dead into the night, Byakko’s Valley is empty.

However, Madara can tell from the delicate pulse of chakra – like a heartbeat, stable but rhythmic – that vibrates against the mountain floor, that someone, is in the meadow.

.

Moonlight.

Moonlight and starlight.

Those are the two beams of light Sakura uses to cultivate this one patch of herbs that she keeps near the stream. They say – the herbalists, the true ones, the ones who first learned of potions – declares that the _tears of toyotama-hime_ brew a little after midnight. The petals would illuminate, capture the moonbeams, and produce a glittery powder just underneath the lip.

However, most herbalists, healers, and doctors know of the _toyotama-hime_ plant as _white coneflower_ or more commonly known by the folk as the _white swan._

It’s such a melodramatic name for such a flower, she thinks.

But then again it _is_ in the Uchiha valley.

“You know,” Sakura starts off walking closer to the stream, the stars bounce off the water like scattered jewels, “It’s considered bad manners to spy on a lady.”

Madara doesn’t miss a beat and jumps from the overhead tree. He points out calmly, “You’re trespassing.”

“Technically,” she glances up at him, liquid jade and salt, “I’m not.”

.

“Are you as daft as you are—” Madara promptly snaps his mouth shut when her gaze narrows into one of glare and his fingers twists at his sides. Morally, he knows that he shouldn’t insult the woman who had helped him – even though he protested baldly at that – because contrary to belief, his mother didn’t raise her sons to be heathens or to be uncultured, “Apologies.”

No, his mother drilled into her son's etiquette, manners, and the occasional tea ceremonial methods—when his father wasn’t looking, of course.

She had said that it would impress his future wife.

But years later, even though unpracticed, Madara remained unmarried.

“Our shrine leaves us on neutral territory,” Sakura explains a-mater-of-factly and crouches in front of the stream, “We have an agreement with your _father,_ by the way, _Tajima-sama,_ I believe. I also have an agreement with the Senju, the Hyuuga, the Nara, the Inuzuka and—well, I pray that you understand the line of thought. Otherwise, I can’t help your _need for violence and bloodshed_ methodology.”

“I wouldn’t have the need for _violence_ if the Senju respected our—!”

“—there you go again with _land_ and territory,” she sighs tiredly and grabs her twine basket from her side, “Ultimately, those associated with the shrine, including priests, workers, and healers are under the agreement of neutrality. The Mizu shrine offers sanctuary to all its visitors and inhabitants.”

“So you have written paperwork stating that you, woman—Sakura, are allowed to be here?” Madara questions slowly.

“Take it up with the priests,” she sniffs and fingers the edge of the _white coneflower,_ “They have the documents.”

He nods even though she doesn’t look at him.

.

“Is there a reason you’re still here?” Sakura asks with mild curiosity, but she keeps plucking the stems of _toyotama-hime_ and places them into her basket.

“I’m supervising,” Madara says simply.

“Has anyone ever told you that you are _very_ annoying?”

He barks a surprised laugh, “I don’t think so.”

Sakura blinks at the sound, she almost fumbles with the stem of her plant, but remains unmoved as she surveys the herbs that grow in between the rocks of the stream, “Huh.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” she shakes her head.

.

Madara frowns and walks closer to her, “Are you just here for those herbs? Or are they flowers?”

“They are both,” Sakura corrects and continues to pluck the flowers, “They are called many names. The proper name is _toyotama-hime,_ the merchants call them the _white coneflower_ and the more common name is _white swan._ ”

“White Swan sounds,” he pauses and takes a seat next to her, “Sounds…poetic?”

She hums, “Sort of. The _toyotama-hime_ flower should only be cultivated after midnight. It’s healing properties are richer because the petals absorb moonlight.”

“Such a thing is possible?” Madara asks with raised brows and looks down at the flower.

The universe is full of clusters of stars. One brighter than the other, colors blurring into highlights, tints, and even shades. Under the night sky, beams of light filter over them like a spotlight. When the white coneflowers absorb the light, they _glow_ and Sakura glows like an uncut gem.

.

Sakura doesn’t ask for permission, she grabs his wrist, flips over his hand until his palm is facing upwards, and places the flower in the center of his appendage. She asks quietly, “What do you see?”

For a moment Madara is shaken by the ethereal halo the moon seems to highlight her in, but still, he finds it in himself to look down.

The petals, the edges of them, held a silvery, white powder that sticks against his fingertips like fog and smears against his fingernails like spider silk. The residue almost looks like it is glowing, messy with supernovas and cosmic galaxies, and settles into his skin almost like rice powder, “It looks like sugar.”

“Well you can’t _eat_ it,” Sakura rolls her eyes and puts the flower back in the basket, “Not now at least. I mean you have to mix it with other things. It helps soothe the sun illness and the occasional spring fever.”

“These herbs?” he looks at the flower curiously, “Are you a healer?”

“I do everything,” her answer is vague, her eyes are distant and there’s a small smile at the curve of her lips. Madara itches to press his thumb against and Sakura shakes her head, “Almost everything.”

He recognizes that Sakura doesn’t answer the question, but lacks the conviction to press.

.

“You’re very quiet, Aniki,” Izuna comments lightly and sips his soup. His brows furrow, “Quieter than usual.”

“What do you know about the agreement with the Mizu Shrine,” Madara asks suddenly and places his chopsticks back onto the table.

“The Shrine again?” he quirks a brow and shrugs, “The shrine is neutral territory and the people who are affiliated with the shrine are also neutral. They are spiritual people, it’s a known rule and undeclared law that no one shall invoke violence or conflict against, or the shrine. Who would dare to mess with the Gods anyway?”

“The Gods have a funny way of showing their blessings,” he grumbles and pours himself another cup of tea.

“What do you mean?” his younger brother asks bemused, even more so than the first week his older brother started questioning the shine that was dead in the middle of the Uchiha and Senju barrier.

“One of the shrine-keepers or workers healed me after I fought with Tobirama,” Madara confesses, “The damn shrew put my bones together like it was nothing. She was good. No lie about that, she was very good at healing. Maybe even better than Hashirama. But her _mouth_ ,” he scowls, “Izuna, her _mouth,_ will get her in trouble.”

Izuna stares at his brother in disbelief, “Do—Do you _like_ her? Or something?”

His older brother _stammers._ Stammers. Stammers like he was caught doing something naughty during lessons and fumbles with his chopsticks. Then he grimaces furiously, firmly, “ _No._ No. I don’t.”

He raises a brow and keeps it there.

“I don’t!” Madara denies hastily and Izuna shakes his head.

He totally does.

.

Izuna knows for certain – no matter how much his older brother tried to deny it – that Madara is absolutely _infatuated_ by the woman who managed to heal his stubborn head. He may not show it, but Madara can’t stop asking questions relating to her _or_ the shrine. It’s the reason he volunteers for more patrols and heads out into the forests to set up traps.

It’s why he toes the boundary of the Uchiha and Senju line.

A risky, calculated, and dangerous move, he knows.

But Madara is willing to do it, just so he can see _her_ again.

Izuna thinks that it’s time to take matters into his own hands.

.

Izuna winces when the blood spills against his fingertips. The gash is deep, poisoned maybe – he can’t tell from the way the clouds stutter around the empty spaces in his mind, fuzzy cotton threads and heat – crimson over alabaster, and his bone sticks out in a way that bone should _not_ be sticking out.

His leg is shattered, he knows this when he collapses head-first into the ground.

The plan has gone sideways.

Izuna only meant to get a _little_ injured, a little bruise, maybe a cut here and there.

He didn’t mean to get so fucked up that he could possibly have one foot in the grave.

“Izuna!” Madara’s voice is like the first crack of thunder, the snap of a branch, heavy chakra and power so great that it curls like smoke at the back of his throat. His hands are like iron around his shoulders, “Who—who _did_ this to you?”

“Aniki,” Izuna spits out some blood as he is turned over on his back and his mouth snaps shut when he sees the look of grief—of _anguish_ paint across his older brother’s face.

“Don’t speak,” he orders, a contradiction wrapped up in a plea and puts an arm around his back hesitantly. He doesn’t know where to touch him, where to hold him, but he does it anyway because no pain will be greater than losing his only brother; his only family left in this world.

.

“Please,” Madara does not beg, does not plead, but he is desperate in his movements when he walks up to stone stairs carrying his brother over his shoulder and looks at Sakura desperately, “ _Please._ ”

Sakura’s sea-foam orbs widen, drops her broom, and runs over to the duo. She puts two fingers on his injured brother’s throat searching for a pulse, and when the faint beat throbs against her fingertips she exhales. She speaks curtly, softly, “Quickly. With me.”

She leads them to a smaller building on the left side of the shrine, near a small koi pond, and a dirt pathway lined with wildflowers at the edges.

Sakura slides open the wooden doors and points to a bed on the right side of the room, “Put him on the cot.”

Madara follows instructions without preamble.

She tightens the silk ribbon at the top of her ponytail and inhales sharply.

.

The right side of the room is a makeshift examination room. With a large cupboard littered with books, glasses, spoons, droppers, the smell of wild lavender – dried – against the windows and white mulberry dangling from the vine at the edge of one wooden drawer.

“Hold him down,” Sakura orders Madara quietly after she rips off his brother’s shirt, “He is poisoned.”

Madara’s face twists into something unpleasant, but he holds down his shoulders.

The pink-haired healer grabs a bag of herbs from the counter, a mix of some type of herbs – the different shades of green and shapes are what causes his brows to crease – a pour of oil and then something else.

She mixes, pulverizes the herbs into her bowl, a poultice, and kneels beside her patient. She grabs a bucket from the side of the cot and exhales, “I’m going to start now. Even if he screams, hold him down. If we don’t get the poison out first, he will have no chance of healing the rest of his injuries.”

Madara nods in understanding.

“I’m going to sit his bones so he won’t hurt himself when we draw out the poison,” Sakura explains and presses down on his ribs.

The sickening crack echoes in the empty room.

.

Sakura smears the poultice on Izuna’s open wounds and looks over at Madara. Her face is grim, but determined, “Even if he screams you must not let go.”

Madara stills and looks down at his brother. The bone-setting must’ve hurt, from his hoarse cries and shaky yells, his brother had suffered. However, the Uchiha Clan Head has never heard his brother _scream._ Not even when they – the Senju – bashed him on the head with a log as a child. “Will this hurt him?”

“Probably,” she doesn’t lie, “But once the poison is taken out and I’ve closed up his wounds, he should be fine.”

Maybe.

But Sakura doesn’t say that aloud.

.

When Sakura activates her chakra, Izuna _screams._

Izuna screams, thrashes, and writhes against the cot. He squirms against the sheets, his body is not prepared and does not know how to handle the pain that’s burning his pathways—his blood.

Madara winces at the raw, broken sound. He is helpless to his brother’s pain, but he keeps him pressed against the cot and Sakura pulls out the poison almost as if it’s water and pours it into the bucket.

Izuna relaxes against the cot.

Sakura exhales shakily and smears more poultice against his wounds, “Again.”

There is no rest for the weary.

.

When Sakura closes up Izuna’s wounds, her shoulders droop, her hands are unsteady as they loosen her ponytail – her hairpin falling to the ground in a small clink – and she inhales, “Okay. That should do it. He needs to rest here for at _least_ three moons. He’s going to be off-balanced for the first few days and if there’s any poison left I can make an antidote to burn it off.”

“Couldn’t you make an antidote before instead of pulling at his blood?” Madara demands half in outrage and half in relief.

“Do you really think that I would waste _my chakra_ , _my time,_ and _my energy_ on something that could be fixed with a quick potion?” Sakura shoots back with irritation.

The elder Uchiha snaps his mouth shut.

“With that amount of poison in his bloodstream giving him an antidote would’ve done little to no good, antidotes are made to neutralize poison in small doses. Giving him large doses would do damage to his system,” she explains and rubs her eyes, “Pulling out mass amounts of poison is faster and more effective. The antidote will burn off the last traces of poison, ultimately eradicating the substance.”

Madara inclines his head, “The antidote is more of a fail-safe then?”

“Sort of,” Sakura makes a move to stand up, but a wave of vertigo hits her and she sways on her feet.

Madara is there to grab her before she can collapse face-first onto the floor.

.

Sakura blinks slowly.

Madara’s arm that wraps around her shoulder is gentle, he helps her sit back down on the floor and she can’t look at him when she says, “Thank you.”

“No,” Madara shakes his head and tells her gently, “Thank _you._ For saving my brother,” he pauses, “He means everything to me.”

Her eyes soften and then she glances at her patient sleeping on the cot, “He’s your only family—immediate, I mean.”

“Yes,” he hesitates and then sighs, “Our other brothers were lost during the battles. Izuna and I are the only ones who survived.”

Sakura shakes her head, “Such a stupid war. If we all don’t learn to co-exist then the world will end up in a smoldering ember.”

“Things are not so black and white,” Madara reminds her, but he squeezes her hand to mollify the blow.

“I know,” she says too tired to argue and offers, “But if you don’t shine a light you’ll never find the silver.”

.

Madara hates how he doesn’t take the time to appreciate Sakura’s beauty.

He didn’t see her attractiveness at first, because her high ponytail keeps her features sharp and intense the scrutiny in her jade orbs. He’s only seemed glimpses of it when she laughs or smiles. He’s seen fractured moments, that night in the meadow solidified her etherealness but seeing her washed in candlelight really hit the nail on the head.

She is beautiful in sunset pink, long strands of silk, and peach satin.

Her kimono is light in detail and in cloth.

Pale blue littered with white tsubaki and a deep blue obi. She keeps her hair in a high ponytail, a hairpin dangling with emerald bells, but when loose pink strands grace her back, she looks like a deity.

And Madara hates and hates until he loves and loves the way her face softens underneath the red glow of the lanterns as she sleeps with soft, parted lips.

.

“How do I know this isn’t poisoned?” Sakura stares at the bowl distrustfully and rubs the side of her face sleepily.

“You don’t,” Madara says simply and then scowls, “And I don’t poison people. It’s too cowardly.”

“Poison is a very convenient tool, mind you,” she begs to differ and pokes the porridge with the back of her spoon.

“All fights should be honorable and on equal footing,” he replies blithely and glances over at his brother who’s fever has broken, but still remains unconscious, “There are some shinobi who fight injured opponents, opponents who are children, elder, of the sickly, and in some way are at a disadvantage. All battles should be fought with unspoken rules and with integrity. Fighting for a cause based on the sole purpose of causing harm and invoking pain is immoral.”

Sakura blinks at that and speaks slow, “That’s…quite noble of you,” she stirs her porridge and continues, “In a really fucked up kind of way. All of you are essentially fighting for what land? Territory? Dominance? I bet you don’t even know the _real_ reason anyway; what _caused_ the fighting in the first place.”

Madara stares at her almost uncertainly.

“Well,” she flickers ethereal emerald orbs at him and demands, “Do you?”

The elder Uchiha had no answer.

.

“Madara!” Hashirama’s voice calls out to him and he uses shunshin to reach the tree branch just a few meters away from the Uchiha patriarch. Tobirama trails behind him with a twisted frown and an even sourer aura. He declares most solemnly, “I heard about Izuna. My brother has no excuse for his brutality, especially on neutral land and,” he pauses and then bows, “I must beg you to accept my apology on behalf of the Senju clan.”

“Fine,” Madara shrugs and turns back to his traps.

Tobirama honest to god _gapes._

.

“Wha—Wait. That’s it?” Hashirama’s mouth can’t form the words quick enough and frowns. His eyes widen at his best friend’s lack of remorse, of sadness, of regret, and asks with worry, “Do you not think you’re being too cold, Madara? He was your brother for Sage’s sake!”

Madara turns around and gives the Senju look, “Obviously he’s my brother.”

“And you adore him! Why aren’t you—”

“—he’s alive, you imbecile,” he sighs and turns back to his traps.

Madara caught three salmons, he nods more to himself, should be more than enough with the miso soup and rice one of his aunt’s prepared earlier that day. Sakura needs all her strength after that healing session.

“Impossible,” Tobirama snaps and grabs his belt from the side of his hip in response, “I used poison made from the nightingale, there is no cure! Not even our heal—”

Hashirama shoots him such a dark look that the younger Senju bites on his tongue hard enough to collect blood.

.

Properly chastised, Hashirama turns to look at Madara who has finished with his traps and carries his bucket with his gunbai parallel to his hip. He tries again, “It’s okay to be in denial, Madara. When I lost—”

“Izuna is _alive_ Hashirama,” Madara gives him a deadened look and walks past the two of them, fish hanging over his shoulder, “It’s the only reason Tobirama is still alive or I would’ve spilled his blood long ago.”

Tobirama stiffens and opens his mouth—

—Hashirama slams a hand on his brother’s shoulder, warning him to keep his mouth shut and exhales.

“I am glad that Izuna survived, Madara,” Hashirama says softly, “Please give him our regards.”

Madara does not answer.

.

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” Madara starts off and places a piece of steamed fish in front of her. “I know it’s none of my business, but what clan are you from?”

Sakura almost smiles, “You’re learning some manners, Madara. I am…pleasantly surprised.”

The Elder Uchiha has to stop himself from preening at her compliment like an overgrown cat. He clears his throat, ears reddening the more he keeps his silence, and continues, “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I don’t come from a clan,” she confesses and takes a bite of her fish, “I was left on the steps of a shrine when I was a baby.”

“Your parents…just left you?” Madara asks with disbelief and his eyes soften at that.

“I guess they _are_ my parents, I mean I have to come from somewhere,” Sakura muses thoughtfully, “I’ve only known the shrine. The priest, Kenji-sama took me in and raised me as his own. He died almost seven years ago and left the shrine to me.”

“I apologize,” he says quietly and puts his bowl on his mat, “I can’t imagine being alone for that long. Do you truly not have any family?”

“I do not,” she answers and pokes her tofu, “But I have patients and their families when they come to visit me. I’m never alone for too long.”

Madara wants to say something. Something hopeful, something reassuring, but he fumbles on his tongue and can only manage a dry cough. He grabs his soup in an attempt to hide his stutter and distract himself from her curious jade orbs.

“I’m unconscious for two days, Aniki, and you turn into an adolescent,” Izuna interjects tiredly from his cot and looks over at his brother lazily, “I can’t leave you alone for a moment, can I?”

Sakura doesn’t cover her mouth fast enough to muffle her laugh.

.

“Slowly,” Sakura instructs Izuna the following morning, she holds his teacup and helps him sip, “You don’t want to overload your system or you’re just going to throw it back up.”

“Listen to Sakura, Izuna,” Madara instructs sternly.

When Izuna finishes his tea, his medicine, and his bowl of rice. He inquires sarcastically, “I thought her name was _woman_?”

“ _Izuna,”_

Izuna sniffs and looks over at his healer, “So, you’re the person that Aniki has been questioning me about?”

Sakura raises her brows and Madara wonders if there’s a jutsu that can pull him down into the middle of the earth.

.

“So,” Sakura starts off mischievously and waters her plants at the back of her home, “Izuna tells me you’re questioning your life’s choices since you’ve met me.”

Madara fumbles with his shovel.

Fumbles.

He’s been doing that a lot lately.

“You shouldn’t believe everything Izuna says,” Madara scowls and scrapes the dirt with the hot metal, “It’s more than likely that he’s having hallucinations from the medication.”

She giggles lightly and points out, “My medication does not have side effects.”

“Oh? You’re just that good, aren’t you?”

Sakura smirks, “Naturally.”

Madara laughs.

.

Sakura can count how many times she’s heard Madara laugh on one hand and still have fingers left over.

Madara’s laugh – to the shrine maiden at least – borders on a bark. Rough, dry, and sarcastic to the bone. Such displays of amusement are expressed during an ironic squabble, a threat or a taunt, but not one of genuine merriment.

His laugh is warm, husky – not rough she has to differentiate – and it rumbles off her pores like the fresh wash of rain. She should not be affected by him, she knows this, but she can’t help but become flustered by his smile.

Rare and all too beautiful.

His eyes crinkle at the sides, his throat is bare against the sun and his eyes obsidian irises glitter like the first cracks of snow.

For the first time in her adult life, Sakura curses in her house of worship.

.

“You think this is funny, don’t you?” Sakura scowls at the picture of her deity in the main temple, “I didn’t ask for this.”

The Mizu shrine is dedicated to the Goddess Amaterasu who is said to bless this temple and resides in the northeast building of the shrine. Amaterasu is also said to have saved this land when the Naka river flooded the crescent land and never once allowed the water to breach the stone gates of the temple.

“I didn’t ask for _Madara Uchiha,_ ” she presses and cleans the floor to the alter, “I most certainly didn’t ask for _anyone._ I said _Amaterasu-hime, please don’t let me be lonely._ Okay, I know how it sounds, but I was _drunk_ and I was having a moment. A _moment._ I honestly was hoping for something along the lines of a dog. A pet maybe, but these two disasters of a human? This is a punishment.”

Silence.

“Am I being punished hime? Is that it?” Sakura asks dramatically and wags her finger at the portrait, “Have I done something wrong?”

And then, there is thunder.

.

“It’s been four days and the lot of you have done something—haven’t you?” Sakura grumbles down to the shrine and walks towards to where Madara has his gunbai resting against his hips.

Izuna is watching from the swing with wide eyes.

“Sakura,” Madara says with surprise and then looks back at the stairs, “It’s fine. It’s just the Senju scum.”

Sakura whacks him over the head with the back of her palm and scowls, “There is no name-calling in my house.”

Hashirama laughs from the stairs and grins when Madara rubs the back of his neck in irritation, “You’ve gotten him under control, huh Sakura?”

Madara stiffens and asks tersely, “You two _know_ each other?”

.

Izuna watches the situation with much amusement, so much amusement that he doesn’t even bat an eyelash when Tobirama trails his older brother from the stairs.

He pours himself another cup of tea.

.

“What part of _neutral shrine_ do you not understand?” Sakura points out dryly.

“Sakura is also from a sister clan of the Senju,” Hashirama shrugs and takes advantage of Madara’s ignorance, “We obviously don’t know which one, but her chakra control is very similar to our own.”

“Hashirama _thinks_ that I’m a part of his clan,” she corrects him with the roll of her eyes.

Madara relaxes at that and asks curiously, “You can fight?

“Of course I can,” she huffs and faces the younger Senju, “You did a number on Izuna, Tobirama. What do you have to say for yourself? And _remember,_ you’re in a _shrine._ ”

Tobirama grimaces.

.

After Tobirama’s very painful apology – due to the shrine maiden’s glare and Hashirama’s disappointment – to Izuna, the Senju explained why they decided to approach the shrine, “We needed a defensive base.”

Madara blinks, “Excuse me?”

“The Kaguya clan,” Hashirama elucidates and scratches the back of his head, “Tobi sort of killed a few of them during a territory battle.”

“You did _what_?” Izuna exclaims in disbelief.

“That’s what I _said,”_ the Senju nods approvingly at the younger Uchiha, “There were members going around picking fights. Something about the Naka river.”

“Territory, _again,_ ” Sakura says flatly and crosses her arms, “What are you, _dogs?_ ”

The wind chime whistles from her porch and she swears for the second time in her life.

_I honestly was hoping for something along the lines of a dog._

Fuck.

.

Another crackle of thunder and that’s when Sakura realizes that it is _not_ thunder, but a burst of volatile chakra. She demands with an outraged shriek, “Hashirama! Tell me you did _not_ lead them to the shrine!”

Tobirama does not help and nods, “He did.”

_“Tobi!”_

Sakura hisses and grabs the jut of her fan from her obi, “They wouldn’t dare spill blood in a place of worship!”

“They’re from the Kaguya clan, Sakura,” Madara tells her calmly and looks over at her fan with a frown, “Do you really think they wouldn’t?”

“I don’t know any Kaguya clan members!”

“They are vicious shinobi, Sakura,” Hashirama says solemnly and pivots until he’s facing the shrine gates, “They have no such morals.”

.

The battle blurs into light and speed.

Madara, somehow, somewhere, manages to push Sakura behind him, angling her away from the fight by using space and land as a forefront to keep her in a contained area. She doesn’t like it. That much is obvious, but there are at least ten nin and despite the two Clan Heads being well, _clan heads,_ ten nins are still a lot of man-power.

Madara takes down two, Hashirama takes down two and Tobirama works on his second one. Izuna has taken shelter in her home but watches from the window and he scowls at his weakened self.

But when one of the clan-members breaks throw Madara’s defenses, Sakura whips out her fan and shoves him away with a quick flash of wind.

Hashirama blinks.

And Madara has to duck when he goes flying into the gate.

.

“Wind chakra?” Madara asks curiously and snaps the neck of his opponent.

“Water,” Sakura corrects, “It’s summer and the humidity is a weapon in itself.”

But then the Elder Uchiha watches the shrine maiden remove her hairpins, tap the bells on each side, then raises her finger and flicks.

Genjutsu.

With a finger.

His sharingan twinkles with vermillion and moondust.

.

Sakura gets one blow to the face and Madara makes sure the bodies will never be found.

.

“I’m fine,” Sakura tries to get Madara to stop fussing over her, but his grip on her chin is tight and he examines the blood dripping from her temple with a furious snarl. “I promise, I’m fine.”

“Sakura,” Madara presses with a hint of an exasperated whine, “You’re _bleeding._ ”

She softens at his concern, but shakes her head and winces when she does, “I’m fine. He didn’t even hit me that hard.”

“Let me see,” Hashirama grunts when Madara pushes him until he’s stumbling against his younger brother, “Madara! I can _heal_ her.”

“I can heal _myself,_ ” she exhales and puts a glowing hand to her temple, “See. I’m fine.”

Madara brushes her temple with the pads of his fingers and picks up some blood. She grimaces at the amount and opens her mouth to spew reassurances. To assure Madara that she really, _truly_ is fine and that his concern is noted yet unnecessary.

But Sakura is silenced with a pretty flush when Madara presses his lips to her temple.


End file.
